Page 23 of Brave New Earl (The Way to a Lord's Heart 1)

This brought Benjamin up short.

“Not the usual type. By rights, we should find an older female to lend her countenance.”

“No more guests!” Benjamin declared.

“Well, we are all family members, in an extended sense. It should be all right while I’m here.”

Benjamin couldn’t call it blackmail when his uncle had such a good point.

“I wonder if she’s written to the Phillipsons. Or if I should do so, as I’ve spirited away their very useful guest. However accidentally. They’re good friends of mine. I wouldn’t want them upset. Perhaps I should.”

Benjamin’s mind went back to earlier confrontations. Suddenly, he feared he’d made a mistake. “Are they in this with you? If they think they can take Geoffrey from me, they will find themselves in a fight.”

His uncle shook his head. “They’ll be glad—relieved—to hear that your son will remain in his proper home. I promise you.”

Benjamin eyed him suspiciously. “Then why upset?”

“The word is too strong. They expect Miss Saunders to help organize their entertainments and will be mildly annoyed by her absence.”

“Is she a poor relation?” This was a new view of her, one that surprised him. She had none of the diffidence he’d observed in such dependents.

“I don’t think so. The friendship doesn’t have that…feel. But I’m not aware of her exact circumstances.”

Benjamin stood up. “What are you aware of, Uncle?”

“That I’ve overstepped, and you’re angry. I understand that. Also, that you’re more animated than I’ve seen you in months. Years, perhaps. And that I’ve never given you any reason not to trust me.” The older man regarded him steadily.

Only partly convinced, Benjamin turned away. “I’m going out. I promised Geoffrey I’d search for a pony.”

“You should take Miss Saunders with you. As part of yourconsultations.”

Torn between anger and amusement, Benjamin nearly growled. “Don’t push me too far, Uncle Arthur.” And yet, as he walked down the corridor toward the back door, the idea grew on him.

• • •

Leaving her bedchamber rather later than usual, heavy-eyed from her broken night, Jean nearly bumped into Lord Macklin’s valet. Briefly, it seemed the man would drop the pile of freshly laundered neckcloths he was carrying, but he recovered with an adroit side step. “I beg your pardon, miss,” he said.

“My fault,” replied Jean.

The man gave her a small bow, and all at once Jean felt grubby and unkempt. There was no visible reason for this mortification. The valet—Clayton, she remembered—was an unassuming figure in middle age, with a round face that was pleasant rather than handsome and mild brown eyes. He was perfectly polite, without a hint of emotion in his tone. But he seemed to…exude criticism.

Jean was suddenly conscious of the wrinkles in her gown—the same one she’d worn for several days now—and of her only partially tamed hair. Alone, she fought a long, losing battle with her wild curls. If she was staying on at Furness Hall, and it seemed that she was, she needed her things. She needed her lady’s maid, Sarah. Sarah was every bit as competent as Clayton. She’d put Jean to rights and depress the valet’s pretensions in short order.

“Excuse me,” said Jean. She stepped back into her room to compose a message asking Sarah to pack her clothes and bring them here as soon as could be managed.

Five minutes later, Jean made her way downstairs. There was no tray for letters in the front hall, as there would have been in a London town house, and no one about to ask how to post items. From what she’d seen of this household, Jean doubted that they had any such system. Could she pay a groom to take it? London was a long way off.

“There you are.” Benjamin was glad to have found her at last. He hadn’t been able to catch a maidservant to go knocking on his female guest’s door. His staff had been so well schooled to avoid him in recent years that they scurried away as soon as he appeared. Perhaps Mrs. McGinnis’s pleas for changes had some merit. “I missed you at breakfast.”

“I’m a bit later than usual this morning,” Miss Saunders said. Her stomach growled quite audibly. She flushed.

Benjamin gallantly ignored the sound. He didn’t even smile. “Is that a letter?”

“Oh.” She looked down as if she’d forgotten the folded paper in her hand. “Yes. I need more of my things. And my maid. If that’s all right.”

Oddly enough, it was, even though it meant another stranger in his house. “Shall I frank it for you? And make sure it goes on its way?”

“Thank you.” She handed over the letter.

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